


Caller ID? Nonexistent.

by Belle82DevArt



Series: The John Watson Stories [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Enemies, Love/Hate Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Sexual Themes, love triangle (sorta)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle82DevArt/pseuds/Belle82DevArt
Summary: What happens when a call goes haywire and spirals out of control?





	Caller ID? Nonexistent.

London, quiet in the darkened nights of a rain drive street. The patter of water droplets quietly hammer against the panes window, running lightly down the glass and to the street below, bouncing off a red awning labeled ‘Speedy’s’. 221B was quiet for once in the night, bodies resting in separate locations from the other as the rain proved to separate them in one way or another. “Sunny in Dublin, is it not?” A questioning voice inquired from a seated position in the small flat, tea mug resting against chapped lips and the aroma fluttering around the room like birds in a spring day. “Quite, though this helps the case none in regards to light. Clouds are covering the moon and flashlights can only provide so much area to view and work with.” A chuckle, a shake of head, the writer was amused by the tone that deep baritone spoke against his ear from the receiver of the cell phone, the hint of annoyance evident in the taller mans voice as he stood over what was left of a carcass that had been dragged along by a pack of dogs from the woods. A lovely blood trail, intrusion in what was left of the chest cavity, Sherlock had been requested to help find the killer, not the cause of death. “Right you are. Just tonight, correct?” “Yes, just tonight. Lestrade had requested my presence and I believe I’m well on my way to finding our killer.” A clear of his throat when he hears the baritone sigh, eyes fluttering at the sound and a lick to his lips following. “Do hurry, yeah?” “I’ll be quick, J-” The signal abruptly left the area, the storm causing problems with the tower in London. This earned a frustrated action as the man began fiddling with the device, attempting to return the call. No use, a sigh fell from his lips and he eased back within the chair of plush cushions and smell that of spilled tea and freshly dampened hair. The shampoo was that of his own from the morning before, and the one before that, so on and so forth. He hummed, setting his mug aside and taking his phone from the side table when it began to buzz back to life once more. He didn’t recognize the number, fancying the idea that Sherlock may have borrowed a phone to attempt a call back. Of course, this was very unlike him. 

 

“Sherlock, the call must have d-”

“Hello, John.”

 

The writer could feel his skin absolutely crawl at the voice that spoke to him on the other end. “I wouldn’t recommend hanging up just yet, John. We have a game to play.” Amusement, the Spider knew something the writer didn’t and it made John feel physically sickened. “What’s holding me back from hanging this phone up on you, Moriarty?” A sense of dread takes over the once comfortable space, rain battering the window outside as the storm raged on, only intensifying as time draws on. The sounding of a hum, a sip of a drink, the Spider takes a moment to send over a photo to the man who sat with a shaky breath and dread bubbling up far more dangerously like a geyser on the verge of blowing.

 

“This may be of some incentive, Johnny boy.”

**[One new message]**

**[Link attachment] - JM**

 

Sherlock stands, back against the wall and cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as what appears to be a investigator stands before him. The view was oddly close, but telling by the cross hair hanging over those lovely eyes, John entertained the idea of the man unknowingly being held at gunpoint. “Lovely, is it not? So oblivious for the supposedly smartest man in the world. It’s almost humorous, had he not said he would quit smoking, John?” “What do you want?” A voice of venom, used to cover the panic that laced his tone and body tense within the room. A clap of thunder, the lightning lightening the space an electrified blue. John felt like he was going to be sick. “Just a little game, something to help you relax. You both have been so busy trying to catch little ole me, you haven’t even taken time to get a good solid moment of alone time, now have you, Johnny boy? Must be hard, thinking about him so much. Must be so  _ hard _ .” James licked lightly at his lips as he nursed a glass of scotch resting lazily in his hand. A flutter of his eyes and he smirked. “I wonder how you do it, not acting on temptation. You’re a bisexual army man in a confined space with a flatmate who is gayer than one Alan Turning and and yet you still haven’t filled that aching gap. Such a ache has to be cared for, John.” The line paused, leaving the man on the edge of his seat and a shaky breath in the now chilling room signal of his discomfort. “Do you think Sherlock takes care of such a urge?” “I don-” “Ah, ah, ah. Now that’s no way to relax, is it, John?” 

 

A tease hangs in the air as another chuckle felled from scotch laced lips, curved in such a delicious way as to be entertained by the mans attempt to understand just what the criminal wanted. “Lay back, kick your feet up. The amount of time we spend here is dependent on how  _ quick _ you are in our game.” John held hesitation within his body, listening to the way the spider quietly breathed, sipped at his drink and waited for what may have been a noise of confirmation. Once the army vet was eased back in his chair, curiosity got the better of him as to what the words had in terms of meaning. “It’s so evident, your little crush on our sweet Sherlock. He’s just too tempting, yeah? Of course, he doesn’t see you as just any mate. You must be some special live in to fancy his palace so many nights. Do you think he envisions you over him? Teasing him? I know just what that man likes and you..oh ho ho, you’re his type.” A jab to the soldier was given and John felt a shiver spike up his spine. The chill of his words, the past tense and present commentary used to describe one curly haired detective. There had been a time when Sherlock Holmes had just...disappeared, unknown in his actions during his gap of leave, but John had his suspicions. “He was quite the shag, so receptive, such a  _ good boy _ when daddy tells him what to do. I was almost shocked with his obedience. Oh, I believe you’ve deprived him.” Another chuckle, another unsettling mental image of just what Sherlock would have done in that time. John bites into his lips when a jump within his nether regions catches his attention. Only once did it rise, falling back down with a beckoning call for attention. He ignored it...for the time being.

 

"You should have seen him, Johnny boy. He was so pretty, little ass up in the air and those noises, oh those noises he was making. You'd just adore those noises. The whimpers, the moans, the soft gasp and the way he bit the pillow when the pace got faster." A chuckle comes from the other line and John feels his throat constrict, shivering when a swell startled his shaky form. A breath on the other end of the line... Was he getting off on this? "You know, Johnny, he was just a little _ to _ tight, damn near suffocated my Johnson if you get what I mean." The spider smirked when he hears the faint noise of rustling, licking his lips when the gentle sound of labored breathing fills the line. "You like this, don't you Johnny? You like when I talk about him. It's almost cute. What would you do if your poor little detective walked in, seeing your hand wrapped around your prick wanking to his enemy talking about how that sweet little ass felt as it was being fucked." "F-fuck." A snicker and lick to those scotch soaked lips. "That's it, Johnny. You're getting the game now." Jim gave a hum of approval to the soft intakes of air, hand freeing himself from his trousers and lightly teasing at the tip that flopped so lazily against his stomach. He sets his drink aside, leaning on the chair he was seated in in a way to free his hand for more comfortable reign over the engorged object. John shivered when he palmed himself through the briefs that covered his member in thin cotton. In a way, he was thankful Sherlock wasn’t there to see what kind of mush he had been reduced down to.   
  


“I’ll tell you John, his mouth does wonders, but his hand jobs...Holy fuck, those are amazing. He does this little wrist twist thing and, ohhh, you’ll love it if you ever get him in the sack.” A hum fell from his lips and that earned another shaky breathed noise from the man resting in his plush chair across from the leather one the detective rested in on most nights. “I can tell, you’re imagining just what those lips feel like when they’re around you. Rest assured, Johnny boy, they’re just delicious. Mm, you just can’t help but wonder, can’t you John? How he’ll make you sit, make you keep your hands back and let him do all the work. He’s a dirty little toy like that.” Another curse from the army man, and the shift of skin being held within a firm grasp was only growing in volume within the near quiet flat, storm drowned out by the Irishman who held him in place just by illusion and imagination. “That’s it, let me hear you. Are you imagining it’s his voice, telling you such dirty things about himself? Do you want me to command you like he would, John? Do you want me to beg like he would?” A chuckle fell when a vocalization that sounded of near confirmation fell from gaped lips. The Irish man setting a nice pace as his darkened, almost black eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids, a noise of his own falling from a shaky breath and carried on the quiet office air. “Tell me, Johnny, what do you want me to do? What do you want him to do?” “B-beg.” A snicker, the man stilled his moving hand as he listened to the soldier breath, clearly defined skin-on-skin meeting his ear, though slow in the motions. He wanted this to last just as much as the spider did.   
  
“I didn't quite catch that, Johnny.” “Beg.” “One more time.” The Irish man smirked when the plea seemed almost desperate, the word ‘beg’ falling from shaky lips and quickened puffs of air. “I want you to push me up against the wall, show me just what the army taught you. I want your knee between my leg, making me squirm as you tell me just what you want me to do.” A huff of air, the Irishman bites his lip and begins to meet the rhythm the Brit took after the image entered his mind. The taller having lowered due to shaky knees and crotch resting well upon the soldiers knee, hot breath tangling with the soldiers. John gives a soft groan of the mans name, but not of the one on the other end of the line. It was his Sherlock, and his Sherlock alone. “Tell me what you want to do to me.” Came a huff of air and John licked his lips, eyes closed. Those thin lips moved with the words, the Irish hint foreign but not in Johns mind. It was damn near perfection, two men in one. 

 

_ ‘What the hell am I doing?’ _

 

“I want to break you, then put you back together. Your neck, your chest, your body will be mine and my mark will show it.” A pause, another curse, the Brit felt himself throb within his grasp. “You’ll be turned around, ass out for me and i’ll touch it however I would like. Grabbing, fondling. I can slap it and all you’ll do is whimper and ask for another hit.” “Go on, Johnny.” “Captain...you’ll call me Captain.” A snicker from the Irish man and he hummed in enjoyment to the term the military veteran wished to adorn in the bedroom setting. “I would have taken you for vanilla, Captain.” He increased his pace when the noises of one John Watson increased simply due to the term. “I wonder how your Sherlock would treat his Captain…” A louder breath, and the signal was given that the army man was indeed much closer then he had been a moment before. “Come on, Johnny. I want you to come for me, just like you imagined. Come all over for me...Come in me.” A loud clap of thunder, the lights above and around flickered and halted, plunging the room into a deep darkness. The sensory of breathing, it drove the man mad. The army man gave a final noise and the noises ceased when his coating catches his firm grasp and decorated the wood paneling floor beneath him. The Irish man followed in suit, humming his approval when his abdomen caught the majority of the release. A hum from either end, they catch their breaths. “W-We’re done here, Moriarty.” “We’ll see.” The call was dropped, and John relaxed back in his chair as the lights flickered back to life, eyes closing and adjusting to what just happened.

 

**[From: SH]**

**[The case has been solved, have you enjoyed your night? - SH]**

 

John stole a glance to the message, wondering just how to reply.

 

**[Eventful. And yours? - JW]**

**[Dull. I’ll be back tomorrow. - SH]**


End file.
